Mrs. Fezziwig

Christmas is ruined.

Ruined, once again.

Last year it was the debacle with the nutmeg wine, and this year it’s the ghosts from the future showing up to terrorize everyone with some grumpy looking gentleman in old pajamas.

Didn’t I tell you as soon as we saw that specter in the window that you needed to go outside and scare her off? Now, I don’t know how one goes about scaring a ghost, that is true, but we’re trying to have a party, and who feels like making merry when there’s demons floating about? I don’t care if she was a very pretty demon. That just means she was all the more apt to seduce a sailor or something, and I won’t be having that at my Christmas gathering.

I had to send poor Captain Bob upstairs in the event that she sang her siren song and sent him off into a watery grave. As soon as he was out of sight, I marched right outside to have a word with that young poltergeist. At least, she looked young. It’s so hard to tell these days. They’re making ghosts younger and younger. It’s the downfall of society.

As soon as she saw me, she tried floating away and that gentleman with her, but I cleared my throat, and she stopped right in mid-air. You don’t go floating away from Isadora Fezziwig, I’ll tell you that much.

“Excuse me,” I said, being very firm, but also very polite, “Just what do you think you’re doing floating around outside my window? Either come in like a proper person who used to be alive at some time, or move it along, because you’re scaring my party guests.”

Well, wouldn’t you know she smiled at me like she hadn’t done one thing wrong, and motioned with that little translucent hand of hers to the fellow she was levitating next to.

“This--” she said, “--is Ebeneezer Scrooge.”

Now, I ask you, is that supposed to mean something to me? Some spooky little lady tells me a name, and that’s meant to make it okay that she’s haunting my holiday? It wasn’t until the name sat in my brain for a tic that I remembered we already have an Ebeneezer Scrooge around, and he’s a much younger man than the one in front of me.

I said to this ghost, I said--

“I may have been born at night, but it wasn’t last night. Lil Scroogey is inside, and he’s decades younger than whoever this is.”

“This--” she said, again motioning to him with her see-through hands, “--is also Scrooge. He’s from the Future.”

Time-travelers! Never in my life did I think my Christmas party would be ruined by time-travelers. Why would anybody want to come back to this time? All the lovely years throughout history and you want to show up to the year where there’s an ale shortage, high inflation, and all the donkeys are sneezing and lord if we know why.

“I’m the Ghost of Christmas Past,” she says to me, “And I’m here to show Scrooge how nice Christmas used to be when he was young.”

I almost laughed in that little dead face of hers.

“Nice!” I wailed, “Nice? We are currently out of plums. The goose is undercooked. My husband hasn’t paid the rent in three months, because he’s got a gambling problem, and we’re probably going to be evicted before the New Year, and you’re telling me everything is nice?”

I could see that tossed her about, but I wasn’t done getting my say in, and believe you me, when Isadora Fezziwig is determined to have her say, she has it.

“And if you’re the Ghost of Christmas Past, but you’re in the past, then to me, you’re the Ghost of Christmas Future,” I say to her, doing the logic of it all right there in the moment, “And everybody knows the Ghost of Christmas Future is the scary one where you wind up in your grave begging for another chance, and as long as that’s the case, I demand you give me another chance, and let me go back to Christmas fifteen years ago before I married Mr. Fezziwig so I can accept the proposal from Count Volta instead. Turns out, he was onto something with that battery of his even though I didn’t know it at the time.”

No matter my deductions, this tiny ghoul would not send me back in time. I suppose it’s for the best since I do love my Fezziwig, I do, but I’d love being a battery heiress even more.

The ghost and the gent were about to float away, because he had other spirits that he needed to see, but I told him that as long as he’s time-traveling, there’s really no rush, is there? Time, after all, is not a line, but a circle. That’s something my nan used to say after she’d gotten into the gin. So long as time is round and not straight, I didn’t see any reason why they couldn’t stay as long as they liked and try to make the best of the night with us.

That’s how we wound up with this ruined Christmas.

There’s Old Scrooge telling Young Scrooge all about how rich he’s going to be one day, but how lonely it is, and sure enough, Young Scrooge is saying who gives a turnip’s tail if you’re lonely as long as you’ve got money. I heartily agree with him on that point.

Then, over there, you have the Ghost of Christmas Something-or-Other dancing with Captain Bob, who, sure enough, couldn’t resist coming down when he heard her start to sing a few verses of “Good King Wenceslas.” I will say, she’s got a lovely voice. I won’t take that away from her. I just wish she hadn’t spoiled all our fun.

Oh, but look at Mr. Fezziwig over there. He does look so happy. Nothing phases him. He always manages to have a nice time no matter what’s going wrong. I suppose I should take a lesson from him. For now, the fire is crackling, the ghosts are dancing with the sailors, and we’re all here for a good time and not a long time, don’t you think?

Perhaps the supernatural was just what this party needed, after all. Gave it a little perspective. Not that I needed any perspective, mind you. The head on my shoulders is as clear as that ghost’s left foot.

Now, what did you say your name was again, dearie?

Izzy Brown?

Why, isn’t that a riot.

Brown was my maiden name.

And you know, you look very similar to the way I did when I was younger.

You just never know who you’re going to bump into at these parties, do you?

Not even when you’re the one throwing them.